


It's Transcendental

by Cassandra_Elise



Category: Elementary (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Platonic Cuddling, Platonic Soulmates, Platonic and otherwise, Season/Series 07, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-09
Updated: 2019-07-09
Packaged: 2020-06-25 01:57:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19736032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cassandra_Elise/pseuds/Cassandra_Elise
Summary: While in London, Sherlock and Joan made new sleeping arrangements that follow them to the Brownstone in New York. Cute, platonic bed-sharing. Can be romantic, if you wish. Spoilers for season 7.





	It's Transcendental

The bed sharing started quite by accident, and was initiated on a sofa. It was one of those late nights when neither Sherlock nor Joan could make heads or tails of the assignment, and they were both studying the case board above Sherlock’s mantelpiece in 221b Baker Street. Joan began to drift off as she was wont to do, curled up on one edge of the settee like an elegant cat. She never expected Sherlock to fall asleep as well, but his insomniac tendencies had abated since his Post-Concussive Syndrome. When she awoke in the morning, she found she had shifted in her sleep and was laying across a slumbering Sherlock’s chest, his strong arms protectively enclosing her in what was the closest thing she had ever gotten to a hug.

Momentarily befuddled, she continued to lie there, wondering how exactly to extricate herself from the position without awakening her friend. As she puzzled out her predicament, she began to notice how firm and toned Sherlock’s chest felt beneath her cheek, how muscular his arms were. And, perhaps, to her greatest shock, a warmth began to spread from her neck all the way down to her belly, as she realised she _liked_ the way he felt beneath her. Fortunately for her, Sherlock awoke before she could pay special attention to the...lower half of his body.

To say Sherlock was nonplussed would be an understatement. He likewise had no memory of inviting his friend into his arms and snuggling down on the sofa. It was completely uncharacteristic of him. He was a sexual being, to be sure, but he was not apt to spoon with his partners afterwards. And cuddling with Watson when he couldn’t even hug her without stiffening was just...curious.

“Perhaps I have needs that I didn’t realise,” he suggested several days later as they were still trying to unravel their current case.

The comment was completely out of left field. Watson had just finished reporting what she had learned from her interview with the victim’s boss. While she was accustomed to such non sequiturs, even she was confused as to what he meant. “What kind of needs?”

“The kind of needs not met in coitus. A physical connection that goes beyond the purely sexual.”

“Are we talking about the case, or have we shifted back to the awkwardness on the couch from a few days ago?”

Sherlock couldn’t hide his frown. “You thought it was awkward?”

“I ended up rolling off your body unto the floor. Seems like the very definition of awkward.”

“You needn’t have been so embarrassed. I found the cuddling...relaxing.”

Joan raised a sceptical eyebrow. “Really?”

“Yes, it was one of the better sleeps I have had in a long time.”

Watson found her face flushing against her will. “I’m glad I could help.”

There was a pregnant pause, the air thrumming with an unmistakable current. Sherlock flexed his fingers, shifted onto his toes, and then hurried on before he could change his mind. “Perhaps you could help me more often.”

Joan’s bashful smile made his fingers flutter more rapidly. “Maybe I can,” she murmured before returning to the case.

And so the bed-sharing unofficially began. Every few weeks Holmes would come over to Watson’s flat. They would share a dinner together--curry or some other form of takeaway--share a bottle of wine, and then share a bed. No fuss. No muss. Joan would simply go up to her room, and several hours later (he still needed far less sleep than she), Sherlock would follow. 

When they returned to New York together, the sleeping arrangement continued to stand. Even when they were forced to use cots, Sherlock made sure they were close together, so he only had to reach over in the middle of the night to find Joan there. He especially craved her touch during those first nights when he was uncertain whether he’d be pardoned of all crimes or not. Her soft skin and silky hair and lithe form were his security blanket. He wondered how he'd survived so long without her.

***

Now that Sherlock has been freed of all charges of murder, the bed sharing is even more frequent. Perhaps made bold by the lack of boundaries in the Brownstone--they are back to living in the same flat, after all--or maybe due to the realisation that they almost lost each other again, Sherlock and Joan not only sleep together, but spend time in bed reading or discussing their day.

Despite the fact that the two are doing nothing more than literally sharing a bed, they never discuss the new development with anybody. They know no one will really understand. To them, it’s a natural progression of their relationship. They share virtually everything else together. Why not a bed? But to others, the sleeping arrangements might be met with confusion or outright derision. “How can two consenting adults share a bed together and not have sex?” some might argue. Or others might say, “Are you sure you two don’t _want_ to have sex?”

But Sherlock and Joan understand what they are doing, even if they can’t explain it adequately even to themselves. Sherlock tries to solve it one evening as she is curled next to him, almost in dreamland. “It’s a bit transcendental, isn’t it?”

“What is?” Joan breathes, not opening her eyes.

Sherlock strokes her arm lightly with one finger. “This. Us.”

Joan nuzzles closer. “In what way?”

“I’ve always felt an unmistakable bond between you and I, as if our souls were connected.”

Watson’s eyes are opened now, gazing at him unblinkingly. “You mean like soulmates?”

“Yes. Just.” He rests his chin on her head. “And now we can share a physical connection to match our spiritual one. See?”

“Mmm hmm.” Joan smiles as she drifts off to sleep.

Sherlock watches her peaceful breathing for a few minutes, his own eyes growing heavy. “Transcendental,” he concludes in a whisper.


End file.
